


Wolf Brother

by Raissa_Baiard



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, Feral Behavior, Gen, Wolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-01-27 05:29:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21386890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raissa_Baiard/pseuds/Raissa_Baiard
Summary: Timeframe: 5 BBY, duringRebelsSeason 1Synopsis: Following one of Kanan’s premonitions, theGhost’s crew encounters a strange feral child on the plains of Lothal.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 75





	1. Chapter 1

Thunder rumbled across the prairie. The sky was a sullen greenish-gray and lightning flickered among the clouds, promising that a storm was on its way. The perfect night, Zeb thought, to have a nice, big mug of hot tarine tea and play a game of dejarik with Chopper while listening to the sound of the rain against the _Ghost_’s hull. 

At least it should have been, except that Kanan got one of his Jedi premonition things that there was something hugely important out here in the middle of nowhere—he’d been maddeningly vague on exactly what it was, as usual. And so, instead of spending a quiet evening snug aboard the ship, he was out here with Hera prowling through the grassland to the east of the Ghost, while the others took the west side, searching for this whatever-it-was—and, Zeb thought as another bolt of lightning cracked across the sky, probably going to get electrocuted in the process. He scrubbed a hand over the fur on his neck that was standing up from the electricity in the air. “D’ya ever wonder why the Force always picks times like this to send Kanan off on one o’ its wild bantha chases?”

Next to him, Hera put down her macrobinoculars and frowned. “You can always go back to the Ghost with Chopper if you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared!” Zeb bridled. Lasat, and particularly Honor Guards, did not get scared. He was, perhaps, a touch uneasy. “It’s just...the sky looks like it’s gonna pour mookas and tookas any minute and we’re all out here lookin’ for who knows what, who knows where, all because Kanan got some twitchy Jedi _feeling_…”

“Shh!” Hera waved him quiet and pointed towards a rocky outcropping about fifteen meters from them. “There’s something over there!” The tall grass at the stone’s base rustled and Zeb saw what she’d been pointing at. 

There was a boy crouched in the tall grass. 

He was a scruffy-looking kid, maybe in his early teens, thin and wiry. He wore an oversized sleeveless tunic of indeterminate color belted at the waist with a piece of rope, and ragged pants that were cut off at the knees. His feet were bare. His long, dark hair had been pulled back into an untidy queue, straggling strands hanging down into his eyes, and his eyes—so blue they were almost lambent in the twilight—were the quick, bright eyes of a wary wild creature. 

Hera gasped and exchanged a startled look with Zeb. He knew what she was thinking; there were no towns for kilometers around, not even a farm, and no sign of ships or vehicles. So how had the kid gotten there? Where was he from? Who was he? And Hera being Hera, she didn’t wait to see if the kid had any weapons, but took a step towards him, calling out, “Hello? Are you all right?”

The boy rose, standing on ungainly legs, and took half a step forward as he peered at them in the gloomy half-light. “Heh… loh…?” He pronounced the syllables carefully, as if their shape was unfamiliar to him, and wrinkled his nose at the sound of his own voice. “Hello?” he repeated, a bit less uncertainly. “Hello.”

“Can we help you?” Hera took several more steps forward; Zeb recognized the mother avian look on her face and suspected she’d just found her newest project. He tagged along behind her just in case the kid was as wild as he looked. “Are you here alone?” she asked as she approached the boy. 

He considered this for a moment, then shook his head and gestured behind him. And suddenly, there were yellow eyes peering out of grass where there had been none before. A pair of shaggy creatures slowly emerged from the shadow of the standing stone—out of the rock itself, it seemed—giant canids, one gray and one white, taller than the boy, almost as tall as Zeb himself. They flanked the boy, looming over him, and their pointed muzzles were long enough that they could easily have snapped his head off. Zeb had never seen anything like the creatures—no one had seen them in hundreds of years—but he knew what they were: Loth-wolves.

“Karabast!” he swore, unslinging his bo-rifle from where it hung on his back. “Hera, look out! Get down, kid!”

The boy’s eyes grew large as Zeb leveled his rifle at the white wolf. “No!” he shouted, leaping in front of it, his arms thrown wide. “No, not hurt! Not hurt!” He turned, reaching up and put his arms around the white wolf’s neck while the gray one laid its muzzle against the boy’s shoulder. He buried his face in the wolf’s ruff and looked up defiantly at Zeb. “My… family.”

“Your family? The Loth-wolves are your family?” Hera looked as astonished as Zeb felt as the gray wolf nuzzled the boy’s face affectionately as a pet mooka. The white wolf stared balefully at Zeb until he lowered his weapon.

The boy laid a hand on the gray wolf’s muzzle and leaned forward to press his forehead against it, smiling. “Yes. I…” He paused, considering carefully, as if he was searching for long forgotten words. “I wolf brother.” The boy shook his head and made a noise somewhere between a bark and a rueful laugh. “I not talk this way for…” Here, he spread his hands, gesturing expansively “… long time. Hard.” The gray wolf whined softly and nudged the boy’s shoulder with its nose. He sighed and rested his head on the wolf’s furry shoulder for a minute before turning to Hera imploringly. “You help? You...Jedi? I need find Jedi.”

_Karabast!_ Zeb jolted at hearing the word “Jedi” from this scruffy, feral child. On the one hand, Kanan’s freaky Jedi coincidences and not-coincidences had almost lost the power to surprise him by now. On the other hand… karabast!

Hera’s lekku twitched as she glanced sidelong at Zeb, the same amazement he felt reflected in her eyes. “Yes,” she answered slowly. “Yes, I can help you find the Jedi.” She pulled her comlink from her coverall pocket and clicked it on. “Kanan, I think we’ve found what you’re looking for.”


	2. Chapter 2

Sometimes Kanan hated it when the Force’s vague promptings that _something important_ was going to happen turned out to be right. Looking at the boy Hera and Zeb had discovered and the Loth-wolves sitting on either side of him, he had a feeling this was going to be one of those times.

Hera had given Kanan a brief account of her encounter with the strange child while he and Sabine made their way across the grassland to where she and Zeb were waiting, but he still hadn’t been prepared for what he found. The boy sat on the ground between the wolves, leaning against the gray one and reaching up to scratch its ears with an easy familiarity. His mouth was open in a lupine grin, and the wild gleam in his blue eyes made him seem more than half wolf.

And the wolves… There was something profoundly unsettling about the way they looked at Kanan, something strange about the way they _felt_ in the Force. They were connected to its currents in a way he’d never experienced with any other creature, a connection that bound them to the energy of Lothal… and somehow to the boy. 

The boy looked up as Kanan and Sabine approached, his nostrils flaring and his keen eyes darting over them. Sabine held his attention for a moment, but his face lit up when he saw Kanan. He scrambled to his feet. “Jedi! You Jedi, yes?”

This then was what the Force wanted him to find: a feral boy who could hardly speak and yet knew the word “Jedi”. A boy with a strong connection to the Force, to the Loth-wolves, and seemingly to Lothal itself. “Yes, I’m a Jedi. My name’s Kanan Jarrus. Who are you?” 

“I…” His words faltered, his forehead wrinkled in thought, and he gave a whine of frustration. He regarded Kanan with a frown and cocked his head to one side _*You can talk this way, too?*_

_*I....yes. How…?*_ The boy’s voice was strong and clear within Kanan’s mind— how had he learned the trick of Jedi mind speech?—and he felt that this, rather than his halting, limited words, was the boy’s true voice. 

The boy smiled and gestured towards the wolves beside him. _*It’s how I talk to my family. They call me Little Brother.*_

The wolves could speak? The white wolf’s expression was inscrutable as it returned Kanan’s stare, but he could have sworn the gray wolf’s eyes twinkled with mirth. *You say they’re your family. How did that happen?*

Instead of words, an image unfolded in Kanan’s mind, a memory seen through the boy’s eyes, the eyes of the small child he’d once been—

He was running, a blue-purple fruit clutched in his hand. He knew that stealing the fruit was wrong, but he was hungry, so hungry and so alone. Always so alone. The ones in the hard white shells, the same ones who’d taken his parents, were chasing him, their shouts loud behind him—Stop! Thief! Get back here!—-but he was never going to stop as long as they were there. Never ever. He ran out of the city, onto the plains and before he knew it, he’d been swallowed up by prairie grass almost as tall as he was. He doubled over, ragged and panting, in the middle of nowhere—hungry, alone and _lost_.

The boy collapsed onto the ground, too tired to even eat the squashed fruit he was still holding, and closed his eyes against the tears that overwhelmed him. When he finally opened them, a pair of huge yellow eyes was staring down into them. Huge yellow eyes belonging to an enormous hairy beast as big as a mountain, a monster straight out of a thousand nursery tales. He scrambled away as fast as he could, or at least he tried to. His arms and legs had lost the ability to move. All he could do was scream as the Loth-wolf leaned forward to devour him.

But she only touched her nose to his forehead, her warm breath whuff-ing gently against his face, and he was overcome with a sense of peace, something he hadn’t felt since his parents had been gone. A voice that came from nowhere and everywhere filled his mind: **[Do not be afraid, Little Brother. We will help you.]**

_*And they did,*_ the boy’s voice returned to Kanan’s thoughts. _*They gave me a place to live, taught me how to find food. And most of all, they loved me. They became my family, my brothers and sisters. But now…*_ The boy whined again; if he had truly been a wolf his ears would have drooped and his tail would have been low. _*Now they say it’s time for me to go back. To learn things they can’t teach me. They said you could help me, Jedi.*_

“Kanan?” Hera’s voice cut into his thoughts, reminding him that the others hadn’t seen or heard any of what he had. 

He turned back to the rest of the crew, who had been watching this silent interplay. “He’s an orphan; his parents were taken by the Empire when he was little.The wolves… they’re more than just animals; they’re tied to the living Force and the life of this planet in some way I don’t understand. They adopted the boy because he’s strong in the Force, too, and…” His twisted into a grimace. “They want me to train him.” 

It was a mark of how well Hera knew him, how much she’d come to trust and believe in his abilities that she didn’t question how he knew any of this, but got straight to the point. “But you don’t want to?”

Kanan threw up his hands.“I… How can I?!” No, he needed to be calm. He was supposed to be leader of this little group, the confident one, the one who made the best decisions for them. There was no emotion, there was peace...even though Hera’s question cut to his heart. He drew her to the side, lowering his voice. “Hera, I’m no Master; I can’t take on a padawan!” He wasn’t even, technically speaking, a Jedi. His training was woefully incomplete; he’d been no older than this boy when the Clones had turned on him and his master. The years spent running and hiding, doing whatever he had to to survive had dulled his connection to Force. Only in the last few years had he begun to renew and rebuild it. He was no one who ought to be teaching the ways of the Force to anyone. “Besides, how could I even begin to teach him, when he’s more like a wild creature than a boy?” 

Hera’s lips pressed into a flat line, and he thought he saw a trace of disappointment in her eyes. “Well, we can’t just leave him here alone. Whatever kind of life he’s had with his… wolf family, he needs to be with people.”

There was a growl behind him; when he turned, the wolves were standing. The white wolf’s eyes found his, gazing into them as if it could see all the way to his soul. **[It is not our will, Caleb Dume, but that of the Force.]** His voice resonated through Kanan’s thoughts like the thunder that rumbled across the prairie. **[Our brother needs you...as you need him. Do not let your eyes deceive you.]**

Kanan shook his head with a wordless cry of frustration. Hera, the wolves, the Force—they were asking too much of him. He wasn’t ready for this kind of responsibility, he doubted he was capable of it. And the boy—

The boy was watching him, listening, though much of what Kanan said was foreign to him. He stood absolutely still, the way only a cautious animal could be still, but Kanan felt the currents of his emotions swirling in the Force: sadness, longing and fear. He’d lost his family once and now he was going to have to leave the ones he’d come to love as much as his long lost mother and father. But underneath it all, there was a fierce determination to be brave as wolves were brave, to meet this strange new fate head on. The Jedi would guide him.

Kanan looked away, abruptly ashamed that this feral wolf-child, with no training and no knowledge, who had lost so much and was being asked to give up the little he had, found it easier to trust in the will of the Force than he did. “I’ll do what I can for you.” It was all he could promise.

The boy took a step towards Kanan and faltered, looking back at the Loth-wolves uncertainly. The gray wolf lowered its head—no, her head and nudged him gently forward. At the same time, Hera reached a hand out to him. “You had a Human family once. Do you remember your name?” 

His eyes lingered on the gray wolf for a moment longer, the gleam of tears shining in them, but he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “Yes.” he answered, reaching back to Hera. “My name…is Ezra.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Oh, Ezra, did you sleep outside again?”

Ezra opened one eye as he rolled over in the nest of prairie grass he’d arranged the night before. The green female with the tails on her head, Hera, was looking down at him, brows drawn together, mouth turned down slightly. Ezra was still getting used to reading the facial expressions of the members of this strange new group of not-wolves, (and he wasn’t sure what else to call them, given that they came in all sizes,shapes and colors) but that particular look of maternal disappointment transcended species. Raksha, the lead female of his pack had looked at him like that more times than there were blades of grass on the plains. 

He sat up reluctantly. It amazed him how much time these not-wolves wasted stating the obvious. He was outside, he’d been asleep when Hera found him, so shouldn’t it have been clear that he’d slept outside? What was the point of asking him? They used too many words, all of them, except maybe the big purple cat-wolf-man, who seemed to be the only one who understood how much could be conveyed with a well-timed snort or growl. But Hera was the alpha female of this new pack, so respect and a response were due her. Ezra lowered his eyes and whined in assent, then remembered what his new pack mates so often told him: _people used words_. “Yes,” he sighed. 

Hera knelt down next to him, and Ezra could sense the concern rising around her as thick as the morning fog in the valleys. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in your cabin with Zeb? It’s warmer inside the _Ghost_.”

“No.” It was very definitely _not_ comfortable inside the metal cave—ship, Ezra corrected himself, it was a ship. He had vague memories of seeing such craft when he was small, before his parents had been taken, before he’d become a wolf . He even dimly recalled having a toy ship and making it fly like the big ones. He’d thought that ships were wonderful things then. Now he wondered why, because this ship— and for some reason they always called it “the _Ghost_”—was more claustrophobic than any cave he’d ever been in, full of strange smells and weirdly flashing lights, with walls that seemed solid but slid away when you came near them. “No,” Ezra repeated emphatically. “Too…” He growled as he tried to come up with a word to convey the feeling, then gave up, bringing his hands together in a violent squashing gesture. That was how he felt when he was in that tiny room, laying on the narrow shelf they called a bunk with Zeb the cat-wolf-man on the bunk above him...squashed and suffocating, like the cabin was closing in on him. He was used to feeling the subtle shifts of the breeze and hearing the comforting sounds of the insects and night birds as he fell asleep; there was none of that when he was sealed inside the metal cave of a cabin. “And not cold,” he assured Hera, tugging at his shirt sleeve. “Clothes.”

Oh yes, clothes… That had been another bone of contention between him and Hera. She’d deemed his usual clothing wholly unsuitable, even though he’d been wearing them for several of Lothal’s turnings now. They kept the parts of him that needed covering covered, and wasn’t that what clothes were for? Hera disagreed. She’d presented him with a new set of clothes—on top, a short sleeved shirt, a long sleeved shirt to go over that and another, heavier shirt over it all. On the bottom—a strange, constrictive thing called a “microgarment”, a pair of long, stiff pants that came all the way down to his ankles, and—Ezra still shuddered to think about them—a pair of those instruments of torture known as boots. 

Alpha female or not, Ezra had bared his teeth at Hera when she’d insisted on putting them on his feet. It had been too much for him; he’d already been subjected to being bathed, water pouring down on him in a tiny chamber-within-a-chamber (what was it with these not-wolves and their enclosed spaces, anyway?), and having all the tangles laboriously teased out of his hair...a process that had been worse than when Raksha licked him clean when he was small. Having his feet trapped in those heavy, hard, clomping things had been the final straw. Ezra had ripped off the top two shirts, kicked the boots across the room and fled, snarling, out onto the prairie until the Jedi had come to find him. After a furious mental conversation in which Ezra maintained that wolves did not need that many clothes and Kanan insisted that _Humans_ wore clothing, they’d managed to work out a compromise--one shirt and pants, and no boots as long as he was in the camp. Ezra sensed that Hera was still not happy with this arrangement, though.

She sighed, her long head-tails twitching. Just like a wolf’s tail, the movement of Hera’s tails reflected her mood, and right now they were saying she was both thoughtful and unhappy. Ezra stifled a whine--_people didn’t whine_\--and kept his eyes down. He wanted to make her happy. Boots and bathing notwithstanding, she’d been kind to him so far, and he knew that she was trying to help him fit in to this new pack, but there were so many new rules, so many things he didn’t understand, that he felt like all he could do was disappoint her. So when she stood, saying “Why don’t you come have some breakfast?”, he followed her to the ship, meekly as a pup, even though he cringed at the thought of going inside again.

Zeb and the younger female, Sabine, were already sitting at the table in the room where the pack gathered to eat. Ezra bit back another sigh because Hera would expect him to join them, no matter how crowded and smushed they’d all be on the semi-circular bench. He didn’t understand why he wasn’t allowed to sit on the floor where he’d be more comfortable, except that was another of the seemingly endless list of things people didn’t do. 

“Hey, Ezra.” Sabine smiled in greeting and handed him a plate of dried meat and hard bread--the same food she was eating--as he sat down next to her. Ezra stopped himself from sniffing his food just in time. People did not do that, either, nor did they, as Sabine had rather forcibly explained to him, sniff each other in greeting. She intrigued Ezra, maybe even more than Kanan did. She was the only one in this group who was both of his species and near his age... and she was female, and that difference made her doubly interesting to Ezra for reasons he couldn’t quite put into words. As fierce as she was, Sabine would have made an excellent wolf, Ezra reflected. She even wore the image of a wolf on one of the hard plates on her shoulders. (though it baffled Ezra why someone with a wolf’s strength and ferocity would cover themselves in a hard shell like a turtle).

The wall on the far side of the room slid open suddenly, and Ezra jumped, stifling a yelp--he was never going to get used to that. Walls were supposed to be solid; they were supposed to stay where they were, but apparently no one had told that to the walls in this ship. Kanan stepped into the room, and Ezra thought that the Jedi looked startled when he noticed Ezra sitting at the table.

At first, it had surprised Ezra that Zeb, the oldest, largest and strongest member of this pack, was not the alpha male. It was Kanan who was the leader and Hera’s mate. In a way, it made sense, though, because the way the Jedi _*felt*_ reminded Ezra of Rama, the white wolf who was the alpha of his wolf pack. Both of them had strong connections to the Life Spirit, the currents that flowed through all living things and tied them together as one. Both had the same subtle air of dignity and authority, though it was stronger and more certain in Rama...but perhaps that was only because he was a wolf. 

“Good morning, love.” Hera poured a mug of the dark, bitter beverage called caf that these not-wolves seemed inexplicably fond of (but which Ezra thought tasted awful, even after Zeb had demonstrated how to add milk and sweetener) and handed it to Kanan.

He waved it away. “Thanks, but I have to get going.”

Hera frowned, the tip of her left tail beating a quick rat-a-tat-tat against her shoulder. “Where are you off to so early?”

He looked away, as if unwilling to meet her eyes, and a ripple of unease disturbed the Life Spirit’s currents around him. “The Imperial supply shipment comes in to Capital City today. If I’m going to snag it for Tarkintown, I need to get going.”

Ezra stood. “I come,” he said. It was much easier to _*speak*_ to Kanan, but the Jedi had told him it was impolite to do so since the others couldn’t hear. These words were easy enough, though, and this time he wanted to be sure the whole pack heard them.

“No, you’re staying here.” Kanan shook his head, a gesture Ezra had become familiar with from the him. Sometimes it was just a quick shake and a simple dismissal, but sometimes, like this time, when it was accompanied by Kanan’s dark brows coming together and his mouth flattening into a straight line, it was the equivalent of Rama showing his teeth. “It’s too dangerous for you…”

“I wolf brother, not afraid!” Ezra knew that challenging the alpha male this way was terribly bad form, a good way to wind up with a paw on one’s chest and snarling teeth in your face as a reminder of who was in charge and where you fit in to the pack hierarchy, but right now he didn’t care. Kanan was supposed to be teaching him...something. Rama had been emphatic that Ezra’s path lay with Kanan and his pack, that the Jedi would guide him, but so far Kanan had been as elusive as if he was walking the Greater Paths between times and worlds. And when Ezra finally did locate him, all he would say was that Ezra had to rediscover what it meant to be Human before he could teach him to be a Jedi. 

“I know you’re not afraid, and that’s why you’re staying here!” Kanan’s flat line of a mouth had turned down into a scowl now, and a miniature thunderstorm of emotion was brewing around him. “I know my way around the city; you don’t. There will be stormtroopers there, men in armor with blasters, who won’t hesitate to shoot you if you make the wrong move.” He held up a hand, and Ezra had the feeling that Kanan’s words were meant for the others to hear as much as Ezra’s had been “Look, the most important thing you can do right now is to stay here and keep on with your lessons with Sabine and Hera, so that you understand what you’re up against if you ever do have to face the Empire. No, no arguments.” He gave another alpha-male-telling-what’s-what shake of his head as Ezra open his mouth to protest. “You’re staying, Ezra, and that’s final!”

Ezra sank back down into his seat with a huff as Kanan stalked out of the room, aware that the others were watching him. Was this really what he’d left his family for? To learn how to wear clothes and sleep on shelves and eat food that tasted and smelled wrong? There had to be more to it than this! Rama had assured him that he needed to be a part of this new pack, and Kanan told him that he had to learn to be Human. They were his alphas and so he would obey them, both of them. He’d learn what it meant to be Human..

But he’d never forget that he was really a wolf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Rama and Raksha**: the names of Mowgli’s lupine foster parents in _The Jungle Book_. Raksha is given as “Mother Wolf”’s name in Kipling’s book, while “Father Wolf” remains nameless there, but is given the name “Rama” in the Disney movie.


	4. Chapter 4

Watching Ezra eat was not for the faint of heart, Sabine thought, as he attacked his breakfast. The boy devoured his food with a single-minded ferocity that put even Zeb’s appetite to shame. Utensils were a foreign concept to him, except for the short, chipped knife he carried in a makeshift sheath, which he employed with more enthusiasm than finesse. And in terms of table manners, he was worse than her younger brother, Tristan, had been as a two-year-old youngling—though Ezra was far more likely to lick crumbs off the table than launch his food across the room the way Tristan had. 

The first morning Ezra had been with them, Zeb had loaded his plate with sausages and hash; the results had been slightly disturbing, with much snuffling and chomping and slurping, and exceptionally messy, with grease all over Ezra’s face, hash on his hands, in his hair, on the table, everywhere. It led to another messy and probably disturbing experience—Ezra’s first shower in the Force knew how many years. From the state of his hair and clothing, bathing had also been a foreign concept to him. Sabine fortunately hadn’t been involved in that process, but the howls from the ’fresher had been truly pathetic and Kanan and Zeb emerged soaked and grim with a soggy Ezra trailing them, sulking like a drenched Loth-cat.

Meals had improved somewhat since Sabine had hit on the idea of giving Ezra Mando field rations—leathermeat and dried harshun bread—for which no utensils were required. They cut down on the amount of licking and snuffling involved at mealtimes, though it was still a bit disconcerting to see him gnawing his harshun bread like a dog with a bone—or rather, a wolf with a bone. 

Hera had been watching Ezra pensively since Kanan and Zeb, (who grumbled that he hadn’t even gotten seconds of hash yet) had left on their mission to liberate the Imperial supplies. Sabine didn’t understand everything that had transpired that night on the prairie, but she knew that though Kanan was supposed to be training Ezra, it was Hera who had taken charge of him—and that she wasn’t very pleased by the Jedi’s diffidence. Hera finished the last of her tea and set down her mug. “Sabine, can you keep an eye on Ezra this morning? The _Phantom’s_ dorsal stabilizer is leaning again and I need to realign it today.”

“No problem.” Despite Ezra’s lack of social graces, or maybe even because of them, she rather liked him. He had a directness and honesty that was refreshing, almost Mandalorian. There was no pretension to Ezra; he was what he was, and what he was, according to him, was a wolf. Sabine had been studying him, and she could see the lupine influence in his every move—his brisk, loping stride, the way he tilted his head when he was listening, the half-crouched way he sat. And while she understood why Hera and Kanan wanted to restore his humanity, she thought it was a shame that he might lose that wolfish side of himself. “You ready for our game, Ezra?” 

Ezra sighed, and Sabine suspected that he’d figured out that even if she called it a game, it was really lessons. His inability to communicate with the other crew members was a consistent source of frustration to him, so Hera had made it their first priority to help him improve his language. Showing Ezra holos of objects had simply baffled him; he poked and sniffed at the holos, yelping when fingers and nose simply passed through the “objects”. He was however, fascinated by Sabine’s ability to draw, and she’d recalled the way she’d helped Tristan learn his aurek-besh-creshes, by printing a word and drawing a picture beneath it. Like Tristan at age four, Ezra responded to the simple pictures and he was starting to make some progress in recognizing words. 

He gazed longingly at the galley door. “Outside?” he asked, a plaintive whine creeping into his voice.

“Sure, why not?” Sabine shrugged and smiled. Ezra got restless and irritable if he spent too much time indoors; maybe taking their lessons outside would help him concentrate.

He was already basking in the sun at the foot of the _Ghost’s_ ramp by the time she’d gathered her sketchbook and stylus. Sabine sat down next to him, and flipped her book open to a blank page. “Ready?”

Animals were his favorite drawings, while the things any other boy would have loved—ships, speeders, blasters—didn’t interest him at all. When she’d drawn a stormtrooper’s helmet, he’d snarled at it, baring his teeth. Sabine usually started with the easiest first, the words Ezra had almost learned to identify: WOLF, CAT, BIRD. But today, on a whim, she sketched Ezra’s face—straight nose, dark brows, long hair pulled back into queue (somewhat tidier now that Hera had worked out the tangles, though loose strands still fell forward over his eyes)—and wrote “EZRA” beneath it. He frowned at it, crinkling his nose in puzzlement and sniffing, as if that would help him identify it. 

“It’s you,” Sabine told him, realizing her mistake too late. Of course he didn’t recognize himself; it wasn’t like wolves had mirrors. “And that’s your name, Ezra. Esk, zerek, resh, aurek.” She pointed to each letter with her stylus as Ezra wonderingly touched his own face and then traced the lines of her drawing with one finger. 

He pondered his image for a moment and then looked up at her. “I? I draw?”

Sabine was surprised. Though Ezra had been fascinated by the examples of her artwork around the Ghost and always watched intently when she drew the little sketches for their game, he’d never shown any interest in trying. But this could be a good thing, another way for him to communicate when he couldn’t find the words he needed. “Go ahead!” She handed the stylus to him with a smile. 

Ezra took it awkwardly, grasping it in his fist and jabbing it at the page as if he intended to spear the sketchbook. Sabine hastily disengaged the stylus from his clenched grip and shaped his hand so that he was holding it properly. She demonstrated how to make a line on the flimsi. “Like this,” she said. “Gently.”

Ezra huffed thoughtfully, and his brow wrinkled in concentration as he began to draw. Though his grip was still clumsy and a little too tight, he worked with great deliberation. His drawing wasn’t the stick-figure arrangement of circles and lines that Sabine expected, the kind that Tristan had drawn as a youngling. Instead, he’d made the outline of a four-legged creature with pointed ears, a narrow muzzle and a bushy tail—a Loth-wolf, naturally. While it wasn’t the most sophisticated representation, it had a certain elegance of form that reminded Sabine of examples she’d seen of prehistoric art. “This looks a lot like some of the cave drawings they’ve found here on Lothal!”

He looked up from his work. “No. Not in cave. In my home.”

“There are paintings like this where you live?” That was interesting. So far, they’d been unable to establish where exactly Ezra had come from. He’d given them vague and increasingly frustrated answers about “hills, but big” and “wolf paths” which had turned into equally frustrated gestures and finally exasperated growls. Kanan had tried to get more information from him, and said that while Ezra’s earliest memories matched Capital City, the images he’d shown Kanan of the primitive dwelling he called home didn’t resemble anything he’d ever seen on Lothal. Kanan hadn’t mentioned anything about there being cave art on the walls of Ezra’s home, but then, he wouldn’t. “I’d love to see them,” Sabine mused. She’d always found the simplicity of ancient art inspiring; it was the original graffiti art!

“I show you.” Ezra dropped the sketchbook and stylus and sprang to his feet. He tugged eagerly on Sabine’s hand until she stood, too. “Come.”

Sabine shook her hand loose from his. As intriguing as she found ancient art, and as much as she would have liked to find out more about the mysterious boy, something about his offer didn’t seem quite right. How could he show her his home when Kanan insisted there was nothing like anywhere around here? She took a step back. “Is it far?”

Ezra tilted his head and his mouth curved into a grin. “Not far for wolves.”

“Yeah, that’s great.” Just one problem, which should have been obvious, even to Ezra. “But I’m not a wolf.”

“I am!” His grin widened, his eyes lighting up with a wild gleam, and suddenly, despite the clean tunic, neat pants and newly combed hair, Ezra seemed like the feral creature they’d found on the prairie that stormy evening a week earlier. “Come!” He grabbed Sabine’s hand again, but this time he started running, pulling her after him. 

Sabine could never satisfactorily explain what happened next. As they dashed across the open grassland, the world started to look blurry, indistinct as if was becoming an impressionistic painting. Rainbow ripples of light spread out where Ezra’s feet touched the ground, like he was skipping over puddles of some luminescent liquid instead of powdery soil. The back of Sabine’s neck prickled as she realized with alarm that Ezra was charging full tilt towards the nearest rock outcropping—a domed structure more than two meters tall and a base of the same diameter. “Ezra, stop!”

He looked over his shoulder at her, still grinning that wild, wolfish grin and shook his head. “Come!” Ezra laughed as he ran, showing no signs of slowing down. 

And just before he would have hit the stone, the whole world disappeared around them.


End file.
